What do I think I want, what do I want, and what do I need?
by adorablehamster
Summary: Hayden-centered, somewhat angst-y, multi-chapter fic. Some Connor/Hayden friendship in there, too. DISCLAIMER: Nothing's mine.
1. Chapter 1

Hayden sat alone, on the top of an abandoned jet he'd spent all day working on. The metal exterior was icy to the touch due to the desert's nasty climate, but he couldn't feel it either way. At this time of night, the moon's humble glow spread itself across the surface just slightly, causing it to gleam in the night.

The teen spent all day hollowing this plane from the inside out; turning it into what it is now—a shell of a once noble fighter, a ghost. It led him to a place in his mind he rarely entered—thoughts about his own life. Normally he spent his time contemplating the lives of others. Calculating their next moves. Predicting their answers to his questions. He had no time to think about his own life, his own problems.

No, the world was much too full of more interesting things than himself.

Yet today, he found himself wondering if he was something like this plane. Was he _really _the cunning yet charismatic teenager he made himself out to be? Or was he just like this plane—an awfully convincing front to show everyone else, but empty on the inside?

He wasn't sure.

He's never sure about himself, after all.

'_I know others so well. Predictions aren't hard to make if you have the proper information. So then who am I?' _he'd often ask himself. _'It's pointless entertaining these thoughts. You know what's useful, Hayden? Focusing on others. Now that's going to get you somewhere.'_

But as pointless as these thoughts were, he couldn't get them out of his head. One thing led to another, and soon he found himself thinking of his parents. How were they doing? Did they think he was dead? Or rather, not dead, _unwound. _Did they miss him at all?

His eyes stung as though he were about to cry, but he just blinked it away. _'What's going on here? Why are you crying? C'mon, now. You've made it this far on your own. Don't tell me you miss them… You don't need them, or their spite,' _he tried to tell himself. But as hard as he tried, a single tear managed to trickle down his cheek.

If someone were to come and ask him _right now _if he missed his parents, what would he say? Instinctively, the answer would be no. How could he miss those rotten parents, who would rather have him unwound than lose a petty argument? How could he miss those parents who fought each other so hard… just because… they loved him?

No.

'_That wasn't love.' _His thoughts are firm, much like the way he speaks. _'That was simply a need for power, for possession.' _Still… That thought hurt. Those people he spent 17 years with, those people who raised him… maybe they did love him. Just maybe.

And if they could find it within their hearts to love him… then could he possibly miss them, too?

Thinking so hard made his eyelids grow heavy, and within moments, he fell into the realm of lost memories, also known as his dreams.

He saw himself as a small child, maybe 5 or 6. He and his two parents sat around a campfire, roasting marshmallows and laughing. But, watching this scene from a new perspective was much different. His parents seemed strained and uncomfortable around each other. The conversation felt unreal, artificial.

How didn't he notice this when he was kid?

Maybe his entire life was building up to that divorce. Maybe he just hadn't paid enough attention to the way his family acted. Could he have changed anything? He wants to say yes, that he could have helped them rebuild their relationship. Yet he can't say that. This outcome was inevitable.

Suddenly, the entire scene is disrupted and fades to black, and he feels a sensation in his gut—falling. He was falling. Where he was and how he got there, he had no idea. All he knew was that he was plummeting toward the earth at a frightening speed—

_THUD!_

"AAH!" he shrieked as he felt himself sliding off the top of the plane and hitting the ground. It wasn't a particularly large plane, but still, it stood at a decent height. "Nngh… what?" He blinked his eyes. He was just with his parents, at a campfire—no wait, that was a dream.

Reality was that he fell asleep on top of a plane, and after few hours, he rolled over, and there we go.

What he didn't know, was that his scream was heard by almost every Unwind at the Graveyard, and that Connor, along with some guards, were on their way to his very location.

"Who's there?" Connor's voice rang out in the night air. "Don't move, or we'll tranq you."

"Yes, I'm a criminal who somehow managed to make it to the middle of the desert, and while I was here, I just decided to let out a scream loud enough to wake everyone in the entire Graveyard, alerting them of my presence. Is that what you're accusing me of, Connor?"

Hayden's braces reflect a bit of moonlight, making his smirk just visible in the darkness. As the shock of falling about ten or twelve feet from the air wore off, he really began to feel the full impact he'd hit the ground at. Surely, nothing was broken or dislocated, but it still hurt like hell. Oh well.

"Christ, Hayden. You scared the crap out of all of us," Connor states, not realizing that he was hurt. He waved the other guards to return to their stations, while he looked back at the blonde on the floor. "What the hell happened?"

"I was taking a nap." He pauses, taking in Connor's priceless expression at that moment. "Well, as you can see, I'm not the best at choosing places to fall asleep."

"Alright, alright. But as far as I know, you're not a very careless person." Connor grows serious, in spite of Hayden's perpetually jocular attitude. It's obvious enough that Hayden is a smart kid, and that his attitude is just his way of messing with other people. Or distracting himself from his own life. "So are you going to tell me what's up?"

"Connor, it should be obvious enough what's up." For a moment, he feigns seriousness and catches his friend's attention, but he can't hold the expression for long. "The moon."

"…Hayden, that's not what I meant…" He tries desperately to maintain his stern exterior, but he can't. Right then and there, it's as if months' worth of pent of laughter let loose. It felt so good to be alone with a friend, in the cool shade of the night. It's something he forgot about as a leader of the Graveyard.

"Glad I could make you laugh." For a moment, sincerity is detectable in his tone, and it's something Connor knows he can trust. "But uh," he adds, looking a bit sheepish, "can you help me up?"


	2. Chapter 2

The two are sitting in Connor's plane—well, not exactly. Hayden's lying on Connor's bed while Connor sits across the room. Connor seems concerned, while Hayden's attitude is just as playful as ever.

"This is pretty unnecessary, you know. It's a few bruises, it doesn't mean I can't sit in a chair." Still, Connor's mattress _was _more comfortable than his bedroll in the ComBom. "Even so… I could get used to a bed like this."

"I didn't ask for it, and I'd let you have it if I could. But everything's about creating an image, isn't it?" Connor crosses his arms loosely over his chest, feeling tired now that he was in a relaxed environment. "And I'm not keeping you here because I think you're badly hurt. I just want to talk."

"You know I'm not one for serious conversations," he reminds him. "Unless they're about you… which I highly doubt is the case here."

"You're right, this conversation isn't about me. But you should know better than to fall asleep on top of a plane. Do you realize what would've happened if you didn't fall off that thing and you slept 'til morning? You'd be dead of sunstroke by now." Connor silently rests his gaze on the blonde—the scratches on his face from the sand, the bruises on his arms.

"Aw, your concern is touching. You're like the older brother I never had." He acts like he's joking as he speaks to the other, but somehow, he feels like it's possible he meant every word he said. And to him, that is the scariest part.

Attachments to people were frightening. Especially in a time like this, when people could so easily be taken away from you, so easily turned against you. And who's to say his own life wasn't at risk? He was still an AWOL, wasn't he? Weren't they all?

"Y'know what, Hayden?" Connor's suddenly forceful tone drags him out of his own mind. "I want to know something. And I kinda want a serious answer, if you can give me one." He pauses slightly, letting the atmosphere take in the silence. "Is it that you don't _want _to take anything seriously, or that you just… _can't _anymore?"

The question catches him off-guard, and it shows on his face as he stares up at the ceiling in thought. He never thought of it that way. For Hayden, being the jokester, the know-it-all… was just the way things were. It was his way of dealing with people, the way he manipulated others and tested their intelligence.

He'd always assumed it was his decision to act this way, to wave his hand swiftly over the flame. But never did he consider the flame might catch him; perhaps _just _at the fingertips as he tried to pull away one day. For some reason, that never seemed like an option. Neither did blowing the flame out.

This candle was his protection—few people will voluntarily come so close to a burning fire, will they?

So… this was Connor's test, wasn't it? A test to see if he'd keep the flame burning.

'_I don't know,' _he wants so desperately to answer. It's true. He doesn't know. But then again, did he ever bother to think about it?

'_What do I want?' _he asks himself. But he knows what he _wants_ is not the same as what he _thinks _he wants, which is also different from what he _needs. _So which question should he really be asking himself?

"Give me a minute here, Connor. I might actually need to _think _about this one," he says with a genuine smile which, to Connor, is a good sign.

First, answer the easiest question—what did he think he wanted? _'It's simple; what you want, Hayden, is to be alone. To have zero relationships on this earth. To be strengthened by your lack of bonds to anyone but yourself. That's what you want, isn't it?' _Suddenly, he feels like he's being tortured by his own mind._ 'If it's not what you want, then you're in trouble, because it's certainly what you're setting yourself up for.' _

Next, answer the second easiest question—what did he _really _want? _'What do I want? What do I really, truly want?' _This one took him a while. _'I want to stop laughing, and for someone to see me. Not just the clever and witty Hayden—even though I'd want them to see that, too—but also the serious side of me. The side that's hurting too much remember it exists. The side that's falling apart and will never be whole again, even if I am a Wholly.'_

Lastly, the hardest question… what does he need? _'I don't need anything. No one needs anything. After all, the worst that could happen is death, isn't it? Or unwinding. But I'm already doing my best at that one.' _Still, that couldn't be true. Everyone needs something. _'I guess, if I needed something, it would be for someone to love me. Not necessarily in a romantic way… though, a cute girl may not be so bad… but I just need for someone to love me. But most importantly, I need to let myself love someone. That's what I need.'_

Now that that's out of the way, he must figure out what's in his control, and what isn't. _'I can be serious on my own. But it's harder around other people. It's hard to show them something I've spent so long trying to conceal. They say they're here for me but I'm scared. Yes, the boy who looks at everything as a joke is finally frightened. And he's frightened beyond belief.'_

'_He's frightened that they'll lie or they'll leave. He's certain that any love or sincerity must be coated with multiple layers of deceit. This boy is also frightened that he's lost all control over his life; that he'll never find his way out of this maze of painful happiness he's made for himself. But at the same time, I do know that's not true. I'm capable of thought. I'm capable of speech. I can control myself.'_

In his thoughts, he doesn't realize he'd started to cry… right in front of Connor. Yet, Connor said nothing. No consoling words or concerned questions. He just sat there; and somehow, that's better than anything he could have said.

At last, he opens his mouth to speak.

"W-Well, Connor," he stumbles on his words, feeling his voice quiver slightly. He takes in a deep breath, then continues stronger. "I can stop acting this way any time I'd like. But I would rather just have someone figure me out on their own, so that I don't have to show them. It would spare my pride." And even if his words are gravely serious and he has tears in his eyes, he smirks.

His answer surprises Connor though. He pauses before answering, because he knows that anything he could possibly say to console his friend would damage that pride he worked so hard to build up. So, he doesn't say anything at all, other than, "You can sleep here tonight."

And with that, he leaves the room knowing he's said enough.


End file.
